LITMIR.BIZ

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You know it’s true.”

      Orlando laughed. “I don’t know any such thing. I know you’re a man with the Midas touch when it comes to wheeling and dealing, which is why Dad left the family business in your capable hands. God bless him.”

      Garrick studied his brother. “You don’t feel slighted?”

      “Heavens no.” Orlando laughed with genuine amusement. “I’m no architect and I don’t enjoy pushing paper around. The football field is where I belong.”

      Garrick smiled at the truth of Orlando’s words. His brother had never made it past college ball, but he was just as happy coaching his beloved junior-high-school team.

      Tamara, Orlando’s beautiful full-figured wife, looped an arm around her husband, and then leaned lovingly into him. “You’re supposed to be mingling.”

      “I am.” Orlando delivered a quick peck against her voluptuous lips. “I’m making sure this bum you invited doesn’t guzzle all the eggnog.”

      Tamara turned her glowing smile toward Garrick. “He’s harmless…and so is the eggnog. No alcohol.”

      “I knew it tasted funny,” Garrick joked.

      Sliding gingerly from one brother to the other, Tamara planted a kiss against Garrick’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Garrick.”

      “Merry Christmas, gorgeous.”

      “How’s the new house?” Tamara asked.

      “I’m enjoying it so far. Of course, I’ve only been there a week. But it seems like a nice quiet neighborhood.”

      “Why didn’t you just build another house? You do such great work.”

      “It’s a transitional house and it’s just me.” He shrugged.

      “Then maybe I should come up and see you sometime,” she said in her best Mae West imitation.

      They exchanged a few minutes of harmless flirtation—just long enough to playfully stir Orlando’s jealousy.

      “Okay, that’s enough.” Orlando pulled his wife back to his side. “Me Tarzan, she’s Jane.”

      “Oh, are we playing that one tonight?” Tamara murmured against her husband’s ear and slid her arm around his waist.

      “I think I can dig up my leopard-print loincloth.”

      “Hello. I’m still standing here,” Garrick reminded them.

      The mushy husband-and-wife team chuckled. However, the duty of playing hostess called and, with a great show of reluctance, Tamara glided out of Orlando’s arm.

      “I’ll leave you two alone, but, honey, don’t forget to mingle.”

      “You got it.”

      Garrick ladled another cup of eggnog as he watched his sister-in-law vanish into the crowd. “I envy you,” he blurted.

      Orlando’s smile turned sly. “I know.”

      Garrick chuckled, but his mood darkened in the next instant when Bing Crosby vowed solemnly that he would be home for Christmas. “Miranda is getting married again.”

      “Tamara told me. Some doctor or another, right?”

      “Yeah.”

      Orlando fell silent for a moment, glanced around to make sure no one was listening, and then asked, “Are you still in love with her?”

      “I’ll always love her,” Garrick admitted in a voice laden with emotion. “But, no. I’m not in love with her.”

      “Tamara said she’s pregnant.”

      Garrick lowered his head as he clenched his drink. The news hurt just as much the second time around. “Yeah,” he croaked.

      During his seven-year marriage to Miranda, Garrick had waited, prayed, and then begged to start a family with his ambitious ladder-climbing wife. However, the answers were always: after this next deal, after this next trip, and after this next promotion—they were all deviations of the word no.

      “It just means that it was never meant to be,” Orlando said, and then winced. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean—”

      “It’s okay. I know what you meant.” Garrick sighed and backed away. “Forgive me, but the last thing I want engraved on my tombstone is how I was a whiz at business. I want the same thing Dad has and you’ll have. Here lies a great husband and a wonderful father. I want a real legacy.”

      “You’ll get those things, bro.” Orlando met his brother’s direct gaze. “I know you will…because Tamara and I have already lined up the perfect woman for you.”

      Garrick groaned. “Tamara set me up with Miranda, remember?”

      “Trial and error.” Orlando shrugged. “On all our parts. So what do you say?”

      “Is she here tonight?” he asked, unable to keep the dread out of his voice.

      “Nah. You know I wouldn’t land a sneak attack on you like that.”

      Garrick’s eyes narrowed.

      “All right. She was here earlier, checked you out, and gave us the okay to pass you her number.”

      “I was under surveillance and you didn’t tell me?”

      “Tamara told me not to. So what do you say?”

      “I say you’ve been married too long and have forgotten the brothers’ allegiance.”

      “Yes or no?”

      Garrick weighed his options, thought about his love life that was on serious life support, and then caved. “All right…on one condition.”

      “I know. I know. No gold diggers and no career women.”

      Garrick smiled. “You got it.”

      On Christmas morning, Leila stretched languorously in her eastern, king-size Italian bed and gave serious thought to staying put for the entire day. Why not? With Roslyn and her family in Barbados and Sam living it up in sin city, she was actually going to be alone for the holidays.

      “Peace and quiet,” she moaned, curling back up against a pillow.

      The phone rang.

      Leila laughed as she crept an arm out toward the nightstand. “Hello?”

      When no one answered, she frowned and made a concerted effort to suppress her irritation. It was Christmas, after all. Dropping the receiver back onto its cradle, she once again prepared for another flight to dreamland.

      The phone rang again.

      Spewing a string of curse words, Leila snatched off her night mask and grabbed the phone.

      “Hello.”

      The caller didn’t respond, but Leila could make out someone breathing—no, crying—on the other end.

      “Who is this?” When the caller refused to speak, Leila’s sixth sense tingled to life. “Samantha?”

      The caller hung up.

      Leila held the phone. What kind of game was Sam playing now?

      Huffing out a tired breath, Leila finally hung up the phone and climbed out of bed with all her dreams of spending the day in bed gone. Her mind was still wrapped on the strange call as she donned her robe and slipped into her favorite pair of slippers.

      If she had any hopes of figuring out the new game her baby sister was playing, she would need her morning coffee—preferably a full pot.

      Midway down the stairs, the sound of music caught her ear. She stopped.

      Had she left the stereo on? Wait, she hadn’t listened to it last

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